THE CONFESSION

The dining table is covered in fabric swatches, seating charts, and three different cake samples nobody has actually eaten yet.

Elena is starting to understand why people hire someone else to do this. The swatches are spread out in neat rows, ivory and cream and white, all of them looking exactly the same to her tired eyes.

The seating charts are covered in tiny handwriting that keeps smudging. The cake samples sit on small plates, slowly going stale.

"Okay," Sofia says, holding up two swatches of ivory that look, to Elena's eyes, completely identical. "This one, or this one?"

"They're the same color."

"They are not the same color." Sofia squints at them, turning them this way and that in the light. "This one has a little more warmth to it. I think."

"Sofia."

"I don't know, Elena!" Sofia drops both swatches on the table, laughing despite herself.

"I have never planned a wedding either! We are two women who grew up with zero normal family traditions trying to plan a wedding from scratch. We are doing our best."

Mia leans back in her chair, mouth full of cake. "This one is better," she says, pointing at a plate with her fork. "Objectively. Scientifically."

"You have said that about all three."

"Because all three are good, and I refuse to be rushed on cake, Elena." Mia takes another bite. "Cake is the one part of this whole thing I actually understand.

Everything else, I am just here for moral support and free cake."

Elena laughs, rubbing her temples. Her head is starting to ache from all the decisions. "I don't even know where to start with the guest list.

Half the people who should be there are people I don't remember loving."

The table goes quiet for a second. Sofia sets down the swatches. Mia stops chewing.

"I didn't mean it like that," Elena says quickly.

"No, I get it." Sofia's voice softens. "It is got to be strange. Inviting people to your wedding who knew a version of you that you cannot fully reach yet."

"It is strange." Elena picks at the edge of a swatch, not really looking at it.

"There is a whole list of my father's old friends. People who apparently loved him, loved me as a kid.

And I am sitting here trying to figure out if I should invite strangers to the most important day of my life just because they used to matter to a version of me I cannot remember."

Sofia reaches across the table and takes Elena's hand. "Invite them," she says gently. "Even if you don't remember them yet.

They remember you. That still counts for something."

Elena considers that a moment. She looks at Sofia's face, at the warmth in her eyes. Then she nods slowly. "Okay. Yeah. Okay, let us add them."

Mia grins. "That is the spirit. Now, can we talk about flowers? Because I have opinions."

"You have opinions about everything."

"I am a woman of strong convictions." Mia pulls out her phone. "Okay, so I was thinking white roses, obviously, but maybe with some eucalyptus mixed in. It is classic but not boring. Sofia, what do you think?"

Sofia leans over to look at Mia's phone. "Oh, I like that. That is really pretty."

"Right? And then we can do smaller arrangements for the tables. Elena, are you paying attention?"

Elena laughs. "I am paying attention. White roses and eucalyptus. Got it."

"Good." Mia nods firmly. "Now, what about the bridesmaid dresses? I am not wearing anything that makes me look like a marshmallow."

"Nobody is making you look like a marshmallow."

"I am just saying. I have boundaries."

---

Dante finds them still at it hours later. The table is now buried under even more paper than before.

Fabric swatches are scattered everywhere.

Seating charts have been redrawn three times. The cake samples have been demolished.

"How's it going in here?" he asks, leaning in the doorway. He is smiling, clearly amused by the chaos.

"We have picked a cake," Mia announces proudly. "That is the important part. Everything else is just details."

"We have not picked a cake," Sofia corrects. "We have picked our favorite of the three, which is not the same as a final decision."

"It is the same thing."

"It is not the same thing, Mia."

Dante catches Elena's eye across the chaos, amusement pulling at his mouth. "Everything alright?"

"We are figuring it out." Elena waves a hand at the table. "Slowly. Very slowly."

"Do you need me for any of this?"

"God, no," Sofia says immediately. "This is a no-groom zone. Go be useful somewhere else."

Dante laughs, hands raised in surrender. "Understood. I will be in my office, being useful somewhere else."

He starts to leave, then pauses, looking back at Elena. "Marco wants to talk to you, actually. When you have a minute."

Something in his voice makes her look up properly. His brow is creased slightly, a small frown on his face. "About what?"

"He didn't say. Just said it was important." Dante's brow creases further. "He seemed off about it. If you want, I can sit in."

Elena studies him a moment. She sees the concern in his eyes. Then she shakes her head. "No, it is fine. I will go find him now."

She pushes back from the table and stands up. Sofia and Mia are still bickering over cake, oblivious.

"Are you sure?" Dante asks.

"I am sure." She touches his arm briefly as she passes. "I will be right back."

---

Marco is in the war room, alone.

He is standing in front of the wall of photos and red string that has grown even more tangled since the search for Adrian began.

The photographs are old, some of them grainy, some of them clearly taken from surveillance footage.

The red string connects them in a web that seems to grow more complicated every day.

He does not turn around right away when Elena comes in. He just stares at the wall, his shoulders tense.

"You wanted to talk to me?" Elena says.

"Yeah." He finally faces her. There is something in his expression she has not seen before.

Guilt, maybe. Sitting heavy and uncomfortable on a face that usually wears calm so easily. "Sit down. Please."

Elena sits slowly. Unease creeps up her spine. She has known Marco for weeks now.

She has seen him calm under pressure, sharp in a fight, steady in a crisis. She has never seen him look like this.

"Marco, you're scaring me a little," she says.

"I need to tell you something before the wedding happens. Before it goes any further."

He rubs a hand over his jaw, clearly struggling to find the words.

"It is about how long I actually knew you were alive."

Elena's stomach drops. "What do you mean? You told Dante it was three days. Before he found out."

"I told him three days." Marco's voice is quiet, heavy with shame. "It was not three days, Elena. It was closer to three weeks."

The room goes very still. Elena feels the air leave her lungs.

"Three weeks," she repeats slowly. Her voice is flat. "You knew for three weeks and said nothing. To either of us."

Marco nods, his jaw tight. "I saw you at the club the first week. I told myself I was wrong, the way I told Dante. But I was not wrong.

I knew almost immediately." He pauses, swallowing hard. "I just—I was scared of what it would do to him.

I watched that man bury an empty casket and not speak for three days afterward. I did not know how to hand him something that big without being sure first."

"So you followed me instead." Elena's voice is rising slightly. "Watched me. For weeks."

"I needed to know if you were dangerous." Marco's voice cracks slightly. "If Victor had sent you to actually hurt him."

He looks at her, his eyes full of regret. "I know that is not an excuse. I know I should have told him the second I suspected.

I have hated myself for it every day since he found out the truth."

Elena sits with that a long moment. Anger and understanding tangle together in a way that makes it hard to know exactly what she feels.

"You lied to him," she says slowly. "For weeks, while he grieved you every single day, thinking I was dead."

"I know."

"Why are you telling me this now?" Elena's voice is tight. "Right before the wedding?"

"Because you deserve to walk into this marriage with the whole truth about the people around you." Marco meets her eyes.

"Because I cannot keep carrying this quietly and calling myself his brother." He pauses.

"And because if you are going to be family, I would rather you hate me honestly than trust me on a lie."

Elena is quiet a long moment. She studies him. She sees the guilt written all over his face.

She sees the exhaustion in his eyes.

She sees a man who has been carrying this weight for weeks and has finally decided to put it down.

"Does Dante know?" she asks. "The real number of weeks?"

"No."

"You need to tell him."

"I know."

"Before the wedding, Marco." Her voice is firm now, though not unkind. "Not after. He deserves the truth from you directly, the same way I just got it."

Marco nods slowly. Relief and dread mix together on his face. "I will tell him tonight."

"Good." Elena stands, then pauses at the door. She looks back at him. "For what it is worth—I understand why you did it.

I don't love it. But I understand it. You were trying to protect him."

"Doesn't make it right."

"No," Elena agrees quietly. "But it makes it human. And this family could use a little more honesty and a little less perfect loyalty, if you ask me.

At least honesty you can actually build something on."

Marco manages a small, tired smile. "You are kinder than I deserve right now."

"Probably." Elena allows herself a small smile back. "Don't get used to it. Go tell Dante the truth. Tonight."

---

She leaves him there with the wall of red string and unanswered questions.

She walks back toward the dining room, where Sofia and Mia are still arguing cheerfully over cake.

Elena stops in the hallway and leans against the wall for a moment. She closes her eyes. She takes a breath. Then another.

Marco knew for three weeks. He watched her. He followed her. He kept the truth from both of them.

She understands why. She does. But understanding does not make it hurt any less.

She pushes off the wall and walks into the dining room.

"Everything okay?" Sofia asks, looking up.

"Everything is fine." Elena sits back down at the table. "What did I miss?"

"We are back to fighting about the flowers," Mia says. "Sofia wants roses. I want eucalyptus. We are at an impasse."

"Can we do both?"

Sofia and Mia look at each other. Then they look at Elena.

"Both?" Sofia says slowly.

"Both," Elena confirms. "Roses and eucalyptus. And maybe some other greenery. Just make it pretty."

Mia grins. "I like the way you think."

Elena smiles, but her mind is still half in the war room, half on Marco standing alone in front of that wall of photos.

She wonders how long it will take him to go find Dante. She wonders how Dante will react.

She hopes it does not break something that has only just started to heal.